The moon staring above in a star speckled sky. Below the crackling of wood with flames licking high. A world of fantasy that's orange and yellow. A witch on a broomstick or maybe it's a fellow. In a blackened hat and billowing cloak, weaving a torch so I almost choke.
Is that a cat I spied? Now that my eyes are clear sitting next to the stick a paw swiping its ear. Was it for real, all that was seen? Or perhaps it was just a November dream.